Cod Almighty | Diary

The flower arrangement at the gates of hell

19 June 2026

Mmm, nice shirt Lloyd.

After the Day of the Deadheads in the Groups of Dearth your stand-in Friday doodler and noodler has nothing more to say about the World of the Cups. It's nice to have a day away from FIFA's Fantasy Island after the flood of football adjacent activity.

Real Football for Real People is seeping and a-creeping back as the transfer window flew open. We've peered through the round, square and arched windows and up popped the Cookie Monster, Guy Fawkes and dishy Dutch classical pianist Egon Petri. Nope, never heard of him, but according to Wicki-wacki-pedia he'll be bringing a superb technique and powerful sonority to the stage.

Oh, sorry, autocorrect is a such an evil invention, it’s Edon Pruti. Nope. Never heard of him, but he seems a lovely lad with sensible hair, so he's off to a flyer.

Hang on, what, no new signing on Thursday? We're drifting! Town are disgracefully complacent, letting the pack run ahead in snapping up someone we've never knowingly known before. Ooh, hang on, some bloke with a beard has been captured on grainy Super-8 down by the crazy golf. If you look on your antisocial media of choice you'll find some found footage of the Seaside Sasquatch. The Legend of the Big Bloke Upfront has been born.

Legends come and legends go but Town legends often come back for a night of nostalgia (fish and chips included). Does simply playing for Town make you a legend? Only to those who weren't there. No-one was there when Montel Gibson allegedly played for Town, so by definition he definitely must officially be a legend. Mystery Man Monty will be living la vida loca and follow Absolute Living Legend Patrick Whoban as an improbable ex-Mariner improbably swanking around in the Champions League (1st Pre-Qualifying Round) after Northern Ireland League champions Larne swooped like a seagull on a dilatory Donny tripper's fish supper to pluck him from nowhere to obscurity.

I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad. It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world.

Now here's a question: what's worse, an amateur Yorkie or a professional Yorkie? Is there an answer or is it one of those riddles you have to answer before passing over a Nordic bridge? Is this a riddle you have to solve before passing to the next paragraph?

We all prefer a Yorkie bar.

Or would you prefer a Kit-Kat? Will there be a kit spat when the new kit is teased out next week? We're back with Lotto, so that's probably a no, but the proof of the pudding is in the wearing. Hang fire on your ire until we actually see what it actually looks like, actually.

If we stop looking at our own navels and peer around at our peers we see lights, camera and action as people come and people go. York have sold a player for £1m, Walsall have signed perennial Town rejectee Andy Salad, rocky Rotherham can't find anyone to manage them and Rochdale seem to be imploding. Ah, maybe not, with a Magnayficent appointment of a lost legend: Carl Magnay's their assistant manager. Now there's someone we did see play before penny pinching saw him go away.

But now those dark and dreary days are gone. And so am I. There's nothing you can say to make me change my mind. Goodbye.